


The Missing Time

by DenDragon14



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: A.L.I.E. is human, Age Play, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Breastfeeding, Child Neglect, Childhood Friends, Eligius is a bar, F/M, Feeding Kink, Foster Kid! Murphy, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Ghosts, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Light BDSM, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Other, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Puppy Play, Spirits, Supernatural Elements, cop!bellamy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-09-30 07:23:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17219498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DenDragon14/pseuds/DenDragon14
Summary: John Murphy has had a rough life. His dad had died. HIs mom abandoned him. CPS put him in a fairly decent foster home, but he never managed to make any long lasting friends his age.Then he was kidnapped. The things that happened to him there were unspeakable and continued to haunt him. It took four years  for him to escape.The two people who he first trusted after four years with a psychotic couple died in a horrible shooting. And now their spirits are haunting him. The people he'd been staying with for almost three years urged him to go back home. For his safety they said.So now, John Murphy is homeward bound. Unsure of what to expect from the small town of Arkadia. Is it still the home he remembers from nearly a decade ago?





	1. Return

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy! 
> 
> Quick Note: Chapters will consistent between Then and Now, which will be stated at the start of each chapter. "Then" chapters will also have age associated with them.

_"No matter who you are or where you are, instinct tells you to go home”_ ~ Laura Marney, _No Wonder I Take A Drink_

  
**Chapter One: Return**  
_Now_

"I can't just turn up on his doorstep after seven years."  
"Sure you can," Paxton said. He leaned in his seat and folded his hands behind his head. "It shouldn't be that hard to explain where you went to." Murphy glanced up mid bit from his burger and glared at the man in exasperation. Emori, who sat next to Paxton, slapped him on the arm, none too playfully.  
"You know he doesn't like to bring them up..."  
Paxton waved her off. "He's a big boy Emori. He spilled the beans with us, right? Why wouldn't he share it with his foster daddy?"  
  
"Foster father, not daddy. You know I hate that word," Murphy growled. "And you realize that the only reason I told you two was because you two freaked out because I was having nightmares."  
McCreary scoffed. His gaze drifted to stare out the window before he made eye contact with Murphy. "Screaming bloody murder and scaring the living daylights out of us is not "having nightmares". You need to deal with your PTSD. You can't let it wreak you." Emori nodded in agreement. She placed her hands on the table, her good hand covering up her bad hand.

"He has a point, you know," she said. "I mean....you haven't dealt with it in a healthy manner...by that I mean you haven't dealt with it at all. What they did to you..."  
 Murphy blocked out the rest of what she said. God, he hated it whenever they brought them up. For the past three years he had tried so hard to push the memories of them into the deep recesses of his mind. But he supposed his brain wasn't very good at compartmentalization. Every now and then unwanted memories tended to leak out from whatever box he had stored them in.  
 "John, you're starting to draw an audience."

  
As she talked and he had retreated into his mind, he had started to squeeze his hamburger in hand just a bit too tight. The ketchup and special sauce had started to leak out and had dripped down his hands. He grabbed a napkin and wiped at his hands hastily and then slowly turned his gaze over to where Emori was indicating with a jerk of her head.  When he saw the people in the booth across from him, Murphy restrained himself from flinching as he realized the people seated across the way were off duty cops, judging by the uniform. And both of them were gave him confused, slightly concerned glances.

"Alright there, son," one of the officers asked. He smiled and nodded before he turned back to his meal, embarrassed that he was caught having a conversation with himself again. He could only imagine how crazy he looked. He hated it that he was the only one who could see them. Even after death, they both lived to annoy and embarrass him. They were like the siblings he never had.  
McCreary laughed as he slapped the table, amused at his embarrassment, while Emori just smiled, her eyes sympathetic.  
"You think after seeing us for nearly a year you'd learn to keep your conversations out of the public eye," Emori said.  
"He's in his own little world, Emori. Ain't that right, John? You don't go no one else in your life but us."

"That's not true," he muttered through a mouthful of hamburger meat. He knew well enough that Paxton liked to pull his leg and get under his skin, but saying he had no one in his life, that hurt. He had people in his life, but they had urged him to come back to Arkadia. After what had happened at Eligius, Char had thought it best if he parted ways for awhile. Almost a year later and he still couldn't get the ache out of his chest; they'd taken in him like a family, and then they had cast him out. He'd spent nearly three years of his life with them, which felt like a decade in his mind. After the time he had spent up in the that god forsaken cabin against his will, time seemed to pass much slower.  
   
He finished off the remainder of his burger and left enough money to cover the meal and then some. He avoided making eye contact with the cops on his way out. He headed out into the parking lot and across the street. He headed back towards the motel he had checked into about two blocks over. Arkadia wasn't that big of a city; even in all his years of being gone, it hadn't seemed to expand that much. At least, from what he remembered; it had been seven years after all.

"So, Marcus Kane, what was he like," Emori asked, breaking his mental silence. "You never really talked about him." Murphy focused his gaze on his feet, lost in thought. There was no particular bad reason as to why he didn't talk about Marcus. There were particular reasons why he never talked about his parents, and if he talked about his parents, that all led to Marcus sooner or later and vice versa; talking about Marcus led to talking about his parents, and the discussion of the fate of his parents was very sensitive.

"There's not a lot to talk about," he muttered.  He kept his gaze to the ground. He didn't want to be seen talking again to himself in public; lately he'd been very lax about keeping an eye out for curious passerby's opinions. He needed to correct that, and soon. "He took me in because my first foster parents didn't think I "fit" their household. From what I remember the CPS worker more or less forced him to take me in."  
"Were you one of those high strung little shits?" Paxton asked. "Always causing trouble?" Murphy ignored the question but glared at the spirit angrily. Emori, seeing his anger, sighed heavily and glared at Paxton as well.

"Can't you take anything seriously? Honestly, I swear that dying has made you more of an idiot..." Paxton mouth everything she said and shoved her playfully. Emori tumbled into-through-him and sent goosebumps all up and down Murphy's arm and neck. Over the years, before he had his protection bell, he had grown used to having spirits touch him or pass through him and alive or dead, he had grown use to Emori and Paxton's touch. His missed their physical touch though, theirs had been the first good touch he could recall in nearly seven years.

"So....are we still headed to this guy's place?" they asked in unison, drawing him from his thoughts. For several moments, Murphy walked in silence as he debated with himself, his shoes hitting the pavement the only sound between himself and his spirit companions. Did he still want to go and see if Marcus Kane remembered his sorry face?  
"Yes," he said slowly, uncertain, "I'm just hoping he still lives in the same place..."


	2. Was that so hard?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Age 7  
> Flashback chapter. How Murphy ended up with Marcus' as his foster child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please enjoy! Kudos are highly appreciated. As are comments, but only those of positive feedback or constructive criticism, please. Sorry if there are any typos or other errors. And also, for this chapter, I don't know much about how CPS works, so I'm assuming in no way is my representation accurate.

**Chapter Two: Was that so hard?**   
  
_“You were born with the ability to change someone’s life. Don’t ever waste it.”_ ~Anonymous

_Then_   
_Age 7_  

Marcus hadn't dealt with many cases involving children; that area had never been his specialty. He left those to his coworker and partner David, he had a child so he harbored the fatherly instinct somewhere within. However, David had requested some holiday time and Marcus was left to do patrol on his own for several days. Unfortunately, one of those days consisted of a call about a possible abandoned child.   
  
Marcus sighed as he heard the location over the radio; he was obscenely close to the park and it would be wrong to just ignore the call when he was the probably the closest unit. Besides, cases that involved child abandonment normally fell into the hands of CPS sooner or later, and he had a friend that worked in the system so perhaps he wouldn't have to deal with the situation too long. He got out of the cruiser and headed over towards the playground. A woman-who he assumed had called in- that had been sitting at a nearby picnic table approached him and pointed out the child in question.  
  
The boy was seated on the edge of the sandbox. He had dark hair that started to look a bit on the long side, and was dressed in well worn jeans and a plain, black t-shirt. One arm rested across his knees which were curled up to his chest, while his free hand traced patterns in the sand. A backpack sat next to him at his feet, a beaten up toy truck in front of him.   
  
"Hey there, buddy," he said, trying his best to sound cheerful.    
  
"I'm not supposed to talk to strangers," he muttered.   
  
"Well, that's awfully smart of you," he replied. "Would you mind talking to a police officer though?" He held out his badge to the boy, who inspected it with suspicious eyes. He stared at Marcus, his blue eyes glaring daggers at him before he went back to tracing patterns in the sand.  
  
"Did I do something bad, Mister Officer?" he asked. Marcus slipped his badge back into place on his belt.   
  
"No, no. I just got some information that some people noticed you'd been here awhile all by yourself. They were worried for you." The boy glanced up from the sand and around the surrounding playground area, wondering who exactly had mentioned the lack of guardianship around him. "Is your mom or dad around?" The boy shook his head. "What's your name?"   
  
"...John."   
  
"John, I'm Marcus." He held out his hand in greeting, which was ignored by the young boy. "I'm-" He stopped mid sentence as he watched John open up the front most pocket on the backpack and handed up a folded piece of loose-leaf paper to him.  
  
"What's this?" He shrugged.   
  
"A note. Mom said to give it to someone if they asked why I was alone for so long." John waved the paper in his face impatiently. Marcus took it and unfolded it, frowned, and cursed himself mentally for forgetting his reading glasses. The script written on the paper was slanted and sloppy and the letters all merged into one another. His frown deepened as he started to read the sloppy handwriting.   
  
Once finished with reading he asked "Did you read this?" The boy, John, shook his head.   
  
"Mom never writes good," he said. "It's too messy. Can't read most of it anyways." Marcus folded the paper and placed it into his breast pocket. He straightened up to a standing position and exhaled heavily, his gaze focused on the orange glow the sun gave as it started to sink below the horizon. "Well, it's getting dark. How about you come back to the police station with me."  
  
"What about my mom?" he asked, pouting. "She'll be mad if I'm not here when she comes back." Marcus withheld a sigh. He rubbed the back of his neck as he tried to think of how to break the news to this boy gently. After nearly fifteen years of being in the police force, Marcus could be very blunt when he wanted to. He had never perfected when to turn that blunt filter on and off.   
  
"Well, from this note...it says your mom is-she's going to be gone a very long time. She didn't even write when she'd be coming back. Do you know if...she's going to be coming back?" John stared at him, wary. He shifted his feet in the sand, clearly uncomfortable and uncertain about the situation.   
  
"Why would you say that," he demanded angrily after a moment. "My mom wouldn't do that! She wouldn't leave me!"  
  
"But you don't want to wait out here alone all night though, do you," he asked, trying his best to sound unfazed by the boy's anger. "If she comes back and sees you're not here, she'll probably come to the police station, right?" The anger drained slowly from his face. Slowly, John nodded in agreement.   
  
"Yeah, I guess so." He grabbed his backpack and toy truck and got to his feet. The drive back to the station was silent and uncomfortable and this strange tension seemed to make both of the occupants squirm in their seats. Getting inside the police station made no difference, although Marcus had more room to put between himself and the boy. The night dragged on and despite his shift being over in almost an hour, he couldn't find himself to leave the boy in Charles Pike's care. If he thought he was hopeless when it came to children, Pike was even more so. Pike had to be the only other man that lacked children of his own and everyone at the station thought of him to be a rather bitter, sometimes scary individual. He had already had tell Pike to leave the boy be when he had snapped at John for being too fidgety.   
  
He had brought up all the information that they had on John Murphy and his family and then he had radioed for the nearest unit in the area to check out the home address to see if it was possible that his mother had simply _"forgotten_ " that her son was out at the playground or if she had indeed decided to skip town. It was nearing midnight when Jake Griffin returned from patrol with his partner Shumway in tow. Marcus rarely ever saw Jake in a low mood; it was as though he was a light that someone turned on whenever he entered a room. Shumway on the other hand, although a good cop, was rather pessimistic and erratic sometimes. However, as the saying goes, opposites attract, and the two of them made decent partners.   
  
Shumway strolled into his office and stopped just in front of Marcus' desk.   
"We drove by the boy's house as you asked," Shumway said. "There was no sign that anyone was home. The door was unlocked though. Inside, the master bedroom closet was nearly empty, as were the drawers. The boy's stuff is still there, but there is no sign that a woman lives there." Marcus watched sullenly, thoughtfully through his office window as he watched Jake attempt to cheer the boy up with a doughnut. He glanced away and leaned back in his chair as he refrained from sighing in defeat. "  
  
"Thank you. I'll have to get in touch with CPS and then I should head out for the night." Shumway nodded in affirmation and exited the office. For what seemed like a good hour or two, Kane stared at his landline phone. He hated making phone calls, no matter the reason; most people didn't appreciate being woken up during the ungodly hours of the night. He sighed-he seemed to being doing a lot of that lately- and picked up the phone and dialed the number that he had written down in his address book.

"Hi, Indra. I know it's late, but I have a situation for you...."

* * *

Indra arrived just as the sun was beginning to peek over the horizon and grace the land with a warm glow of summer morning. And despite the fact that he was overtime, Marcus hadn't wanted to leave the young boy alone with Pike and Shumway around, even though he had fallen asleep ages ago and wouldn't be bothering anyone Even Jake Griffin had stopped trying to lighten up the boy's spirits, but Marcus appreciated the effort; the kid didn't need anymore negative energy around during this tender situation.  
  
Upon first meeting, Indra seemed like a hard person to approach, what with her power suits and her no nonsense attitude. And yet, despite her rough exterior of stern facial expressions and scars, she was a fair and kind individual; Marcus thought that it helped that she too also had a child, although Marcus knew that there were problems between them. It seemed that nearly everyone in Arkadia had a child, everyone except him it apparently. Frankly, Marcus didn't mind.   
"I'm sorry to have called you so late last night," Kane said as Indra entered his tiny office, " I wanted to make sure that it seemed more than likely that Mrs. Murphy abandoned her son." Indra ignored his statement and took a seat across from him at his desk and pulled out a manila file folder from her briefcase.   
  
"I've seen kids like John before, Marcus," Indra said. She sighed, opening the file she had started on John Murphy and took the several pages of information that Marcus handed her. She glanced through the pages briefly before she slid them into place in the folder and closed it . "Based from this background you've given, he's bound for problems, whether he goes through counselling or not. He'll more than likely hope from foster home to foster home..."   
  
"Indra, I know you're not known for being optimistic but really?" he said, cocking an eyebrow at her in question. She pursed her lips and sighed, sounding disheartened.  
  
"I apologize." She ran a hand over her face, the stoic expression falling away from her face, her face suddenly looked very tired. "I just think after in all my years of being a social worker, I think I'd be helping kids instead of shuffling them through the system." Kane leaned back in his chair, slightly confused.  
  
"Isn't that what you're doing?"   
  
"I try my best." she said, a weak smile on her face. "I can set him up with a family in town, and get him out of your hair for now." Marcus nodded and led Indra out back to the bullpen where John had fallen asleep on one of the benches that lined the wall. Gently, Kane shook him awake.

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and glanced up at the two of them, still half asleep.  
"Is my mom here?" he asked as he stifled a yawn. Marcus turned to Indra, silently pleading with his eyes that she'd take over the situation at hand. Indra nodded and knelt down in front of John. She introduced herself, and Marcus took note of how her voice raised an octave just as his had when he had first approached the boy.

"You said she'd come here!"   
Marcus shifted uncomfortably on his feet before he got on one knee to be eye level with the boy. He hated staring at the reflection of himself in those angry blue eyes. It was bad enough when he had to deal with angry adults, but angry children was on another level for him that he was not used to.  
"I know what I told you. But I had some officers go to your house, and all her things are gone-" he said, his voice calm. "Right now, it doesn't seem like she'll be back...at least not anytime soon."

John's face shifted from anger, to confusion and then back to anger. He glared at Marcus, as though that his mother abandoning him was his fault.  
"She wouldn't do that! You're lying!" he exclaimed, his voice growing loud. His eyes brimmed with tears, his hands clenched to fists.

He kicked at the two of them and drew his knees up to his chest and buried his face into his knees. He heard the muffled sound of sobbing. Marcus turned to Indra, who still knelt by John's side. Her eyes softened with sympathy and she waved Marcus away.  
"It's fine, Marcus. "I've got this."

* * *

It was about a week later that he spotted Indra's face back in the lobby of the police station. When she strutted past the information desk and started to make a beeline towards his office, Marcus felt his gut sink. When he opened up his office door and invited Indra inside, the first thing she asked was,"How about you take him in?"   
  
He couldn't tell if she was joking or not; Indra tended to be a rather serious woman, so when she did make jokes, it still sounded rather serious, which in truth made the joke funnier.  
"I thought you placed him with the Green family." Marcus exclaimed. "What's happened?" Indra sighed as the tired look in her eyes deepened.   
  
"He is with the Green family, for the time being. The other day though I received a call from Mrs. Green. She thinks that John might fit better elsewhere. The sudden change for him they think is causing him distress. They're saying it is problematic in a way that they don't know how to deal with it."

"Isn't there anyone else that can take him?" he asked. He wanted to ask for an a further explanation as to why Hannah Green couldn't or wouldn't keep John Murphy in her custody. He was a seven year old and when Marcus had dealt with him, he thought that John seemed rather quiet, reserved even. 

"You know I would take him, but you know that would be conflicting since he is my case. And I'm not pushing my caseload onto others when it's not necessary." He placed his hands on his hips and stared at the ground, debating his options. He mulled over his thoughts in his head. Were there any other options other than putting him a group home? Arkadia lacked a group home, the closest one was in Polis, which was farther up the mountain side and about two and half hours away.

"Marcus, please. Will you take him in? I don't have any other foster family's in the area right now. You'd be doing me a huge favor by not having me to send him outside the city."

* * *

Two days later, Marcus stood out on the Green family's porch. The front door, ironically painted green, opened to reveal Hannah Green. Her brows raised in surprise.  
"Oh, Officer Kane, good to see you again," Mrs. Green said. "I wasn't expecting you so soon. Come inside."  She opened the door wider and ushered him inside and into the kitchen.   
"Would you like a drink?"  
Marcus shook his head. "No, I'm fine. Thanks for asking," he replied. "This isn't much of a casual visit though. Indra told me you were having some problems with hi-John."

"Yes, well, don't blame the boy. He's been through a lot. I think that the sudden change is troubling for him." She sighed and took a long swig from her tea that sat on the kitchen counter. "Unfortunately, it's also troubling for myself and my family. I'm sorry, Marcus. I really didn't want to throw him back to the system so quickly. But as I'm sure Indra told you, I'd think he'd fit better somewhere else." 

Marcus got up from the table and reached out to shake Hannah's hand. She grasped it tightly and shook it once in gratitude. "He's just so...emotional right now. It's not good for anyone..."   
  
"It's not a problem," he said, trying to sound reassuring. "Indra already arranged for him to stay elsewhere." Mrs. Green nodded and excused herself as she went to gather John and his possessions. Marcus lingered in the foyer area as he waited for John to collect his things together, which wasn't much. It still seemed to be just the backpack he had when Marcus first saw him, although this time, he didn't have the beaten toy truck in hand.

Seeing that John was leaving, Mrs. Green's young son, Monty came downstairs, followed by another boy with a dark mop of hair that Marcus recognized as Jasper Jordan, another foster child in the Green family's care. The two of them stood awkwardly on the stairs as they watched John put on his beat up sneakers and stand awkwardly by the door as he waited for Marcus to say any final goodbyes. Mrs. Green was the only one who attempted at a goodbye while the boys just stood on the steps, perhaps silently waiting for John to leave.

They were half way down the walk way when he heard the front door open.  
"Don't make the cop mad, Murphy!" he heard Jasper chuckle from the porch. "He'll lock you up for sure!" Marcus fought back a smile but noticed how   
  
"You can get in the front," Marcus said. John shook his head and pried open the back door of the cruiser. Without any further exchange of words, Kane started ignition and pulled away from the curb.  
  
"Am I going to prison?" Marcus tried to ignore the wobble in his voice, how the question itself seemed to be laced with tears ready to fall.   
  
"No, you're not going to prison. What did you do that would give me any reason to put you in jail?"  
  
"I broke Monty's grandma's soul house."   
Marcus' brow furrowed and glanced into the rearview mirror. "What's a soul house?" From the mirror's reflection, he saw John glare at him, angry that Kane didn't understand what he meant.  
"It's where they put the ashes so the soul can sleep in there."

"You mean an urn?" he asked. From in the rearview mirror, John nodded in confirmation. "Well, I'm sure you didn't mean to." 

"But I broke the soul's resting place. She'll be stuck now." Marcus glanced into the rearview mirror again and took note of how John anxiously wrung his hands together and his feet shifted uncomfortable on the car floor.

"I'm sure Monty's grandma won't blame you," Marcus said as he attempted his best to sound comforting. 

"Everyone always blames me," he muttered, his gaze directed at his feet. Redirecting the conversation, John asked, "If you aren't taking me to jail, where are we going?" His voice wavered with uncertainty and Marcus caught how his question hitched at the end, as though he was doing his best to keep from bursting into tears.  
  
"You're going to come to my place for awhile."

* * *

His house was nothing to boast about, but it was quaint, and set in a good neighborhood, which suit him just fine. Technically, the house he lived in was his, however, after a particularly troubling time when his mother had a near death scare with pneumonia complications, he had decided it was in her best interest to move in with him. So, after much difficulty they now shared the house. She had resisted for as long as humanely possible before she fell sick again with bronchitis this time; after that incident, she had agreed to move in.   
  
"Oh, hello, dear!" she exclaimed, her face beaming.   
"John this is Vera, my mother. Mom, this is John. He's going to be staying with us for awhile."

"Let me take your things upstairs for you," Vera said. She reached to take the backpack from John, who clutched it to his chest defensively and glared at her. His mother seemed to be unoffended by this. She still had a smile on her face and an endearing look in her eyes; Kane hadn't seen that look on her face in years. Before she had started to fall ill with so many upper respiratory problems, his mother had worked as a teacher at the elementary school. It had been her life, and he thought that perhaps being away from children had made her health worse. He guessed that now he would get to see if that assumption was true or not.

John stood awkwardly at the foot of the stairs as he waited for Marcus to take off his shoes and coat. After he had taken off his shoes and had placed his belt and gun in their respective spots on a high shelf, Marcus led John up to the guest room, where he watched as John slid his bag under the bed, away from prying eyes. He followed Marcus back downstairs afterwards, where he showed John to the living room and offered the television remote to him.

"I was going to get a start on dinner," Vera called out from the kitchen. She poked her head into the living room where Kane was teaching him the controls on the remote.  
"Do you have an allergies, sweetie?" she asked, addressing John. He glanced away from the television screen briefly and shook his head before he returned to channel flipping.  
"Would you like help?" Kane asked, even though he knew the answer already. His mother chuckled lightly and turned to face him, a smile on her face.  
"I don't know why you ask me that Marcus," she said. "You know that if I left the cooking to you, you'd more than likely burn the house down." She pointed towards the kitchen table, a wooden spoon used as a pointer. "You just sit and keep your old mother company."

Despite the television being on as an offered distraction, Marcus could see in his peripheral vision that John was standing on the threshold between kitchen and living room. He watched Marcus' mother intently as she went about getting ready to prepare for dinner.   
  
"You want to help," she asked. John nodded hesitantly and stepped further into the kitchen as he awaited for instructions on how to be useful. He watched his mother place three plates on the counter within his reach. "You can put those on the table, and then grab some cutlery from that top drawer next to the fridge. John nodded quietly in understanding and reached for the plates. Bur as he lifted them off the counter, the bottom one slipped through his fingers and flew to the floor and shattered as it hit the tile. No one except for John himself seemed startled by this.

" 'm sorry," he mumbled. He placed the two unbroken plates on the ground next to him and then knelt down to the floor to pick up the fragments of the shattered plate. Without thinking, Marcus got up from where he was seated and grabbed John's wrist before he could pick up any of the shattered pieces and cut himself. His realized afterwards that he had made a mistake. A small whimper escaped the boy's lips and he tried to pull free from Marcus' grip. Realizing that his grip must have been too strong, Marcus drew his hand back into his own personal space bubble. He glanced away from his hand to John, who still knelt in front of him. Unshed tears shone in his eyes as he stared at Marcus, fearful of what his next action would be.

Kane motioned John away from the glass fragments. "I'll pick this up. You go and finish setting the table."

Their dinner was quiet, as though someone had just died and everyone at the table refused to discuss the deceased person's life. As soon as he had finished eating, which wasn't much, John had mumbled to be excused and had retreated to the spare room upstairs. Marcus and his mother finished the meal in silence. 

As evening turned to night and his mother left his company to retire to her room, Marcus couldn't ignore the strange tight feeling in his chest and palms of his hands. He tried to ignore the sensation by reading a book and then watching the television, but neither of these activities seemed to help. Was he worried? Concerned? Perhaps a bit of both? He wondered why these feelings were taking root inside of him all of a sudden. It couldn't simply be because of John, could it?

His legs carried him upstairs to the hall and he found himself standing outside the guess bedroom-John's room. He stood outside the door and listened and felt an invisible hand squeeze at his heart as he heard the soft, muffled sounds of someone sobbing. Marcus stood there, uncertain of how to proceed. A hand reached out for the doorknob, but he pulled it back to his side as the uncertainty set in. He had never been good at comforting people, let alone crying people. He could sympathize all the wanted, but he knew the words he wanted to say would never come out properly. Finally, Marcus moved past the door down the hall to his mother's room. She was nestled up in her armchair, a ball of yarn sitting neatly in her lap as she knitted, humming contently. 

"Something I can help you with Marcus," she asked, her eyes still focused on her knitting work.   
  
"He's crying."   
  
"Who's crying?" she asked, trying to sound obtuse.   
  
"You know who's crying. The kid."   
  
"You mean John?" she asked. She glanced up at him, her eyes sparkling with a hint of amusement. Marcus sighed, frustrated.   
  
"Yes, I mean John. Who else do you think I'm talking about?" Honestly, sometimes his mother knew too well on how to push his buttons.

"You know I know nothing about children," he hissed. "You are a mother-my mother- so you should know how to comfort a crying kid." His mother sighed impatiently and took off her glasses and gave him one of those motherly stares he had grown so used to. She placed her knitting aside, got up and walked over to him. She patted his cheek gently.  
  
"You'll never learn if you don't try, Marcus," she said. She went over the bookcase that stood by her bed and retrieved a thin book. She handed it to Marcus. "Now, I'm going to go back to my knitting and then retire for the night. I'm sure you can manage on your own."

He knocked on the door quietly, which silence the sobbing on the other side. When he got no answer, he opened the door slightly and poked his head inside. John sat on the bed, his legs pulled up to his chest, his chin resting on his knees.   
  
"Do you mind if I come in?" John sniffled and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. He pulled at the he of his sleeved pajama shirt and shrugged. After a moment, he said, "Yeah, you can come in."

"Do you want to hear a story?" he asked, the words practically tripping over one another. He held the book up in his hand, his eyebrows raised in question. John stared at Kane as though he had spoken in a foreign language to him. He blinked a few times as he processed the words Kane had spoken.   
  
"You...want to read me a story?" His words were quiet and the smile that appeared on his face was small, but Marcus thought it seemed genuine. He rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hands again. "I'd like that." John scooted over to the far side of the bed as he made room for Kane to sit down. 

Kane came further into the room and sat himself down on the bed John had cleared for him. He cleared his throat uncomfortably as he adjusted his sitting position on the bed so John would be able to see the illustrations in the book. It was a Dr. Seuss book of all things, something his mother had kept from her retirement as an elementary school teacher. Nonetheless, it seemed to keep John's attention as he started reading. 

When the story was finished, Marcus glanced over at the boy, surprised to see that he had fallen asleep at some point. His hair obscured his face slightly, one hand loosely latched onto Marcus' arm. His eyelids still looked a bit puffy from crying and Marcus could still see the tear tracks that ran down the boy's face. The invisible hand squeezed his heart again.   
  
He moved John so he rested underneath the covers and pulled them up around his shoulders. He placed the book on the bedside table, turned off the lights and exited the room and quietly closed the door behind him. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he came face to face with his mother. She was dressed in a nightgown and house robe, clearly ready for bed. She smiled at him, her eyes glittering, clearly amused.   
"Now, was that so hard?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wasn't sure about writing from different POV, but I feel like in some scenes it's necessary since I want to expand on Kane and Murphy's relationship as well as Bellamy and Murphy's relationship. So you'll probably see a chapter from Bellamy's POV sooner or later. And maybe some other characters POV. But let me know if you like the POV change/switching or not.


	3. A Warm Welcome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murphy is reunited with his foster father. Marcus hasn't been entirely alone. Also, two familiar faces from Murphy's past show up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!  
> Thanks to those that have commented or left kudos, it is much appreciated. I apologize if there is any typos or other errors.

**Chapter Three: A Warm Welcome**

_Now_

The house he stood in front of seemed to loom over him like a giant. He looked it over several times and placed the details in his memory to the details of the house. Not much seemed different other than the door knockers, and the fresh coat of paint that seemed to cover the entire the house. The curb appeal also appeared neater, as though someone had time to trim the lawn every now and then. This slight difference made him nervous; Marcus had never been one much for lawn care. The only time he or Murphy had cut the grass was if it was getting insanely long.

"Stop prepping and ring the damn doorbell!" Paxton exclaimed. Murphy glared at him.

"Will you shut up for five seconds!" he demanded. "You're making me nervous."  
He shifted his backpack over to the opposite shoulder and readjusted his jacket. He inhaled and exhaled a few times before ringing the doorbell. Fortunately, that still sounded the same.  
He heard the pounding of feet as someone raced down the stairs to the ground floor. The door was opened slightly and a blond haired girl poked her head through the door. She seemed familiar and as Murphy continued to stare at her, a name came floating to the forefront of his mind. _Clarke_. Clarke Griffin. They had gone to school together-he remembered Clarke being among the popular crowd. She was also really good friends with Bellamy Blake; but he was another memory for a different time. Seeing her again though sparked curiosity in him though. Why was she living with Marcus?

"Can I help you?" she asked. Her eyes wandered over him suspiciously, and Murphy couldn't blame her. Over the years, his style had developed into something that most would label as suspicious. He had Paxton to blame for how he looked, mostly.  
For the first little while, after he had escaped, he had borrowed Paxton's clothes-well, Paxton had all but forced them upon him- which often were too large, and after Charmaine had cut his hair, he had decided to grow some stubble and see how it looked. Although, he was not confident when it came to shaving-he had had Emori to help him, and that had been a huge embarrassment. The tattoo on his left temple he had had acquired from Vinson, but that had been because of Paxton as well; it had also been the first time, and only time he had been very intoxicated. Since then, he steered himself away from alcohol; it wasn't needed for a good time anyway.  
So he could understand if he looked a bit strange to some people. But it was one of the few things he took pride in nowadays.

He shifted awkwardly on his feet. He cleared his throat.  
"Uh, does Marcus Kane still live here?"  
Clarke leaned against the doorframe. "Who's asking?" By the way she glared at him, he could tell that she was very unsure about opening the door anywhere lest he decided to barge inside the residence. He couldn't blame her either, his dress attire and physical features weren't exactly the most welcoming. He had dressed in all black, with a large plaid and jean overtop his shirt. The protection bell he wore almost always hung around his neck, visible for everyone to see.  
"His...his foster son."  
He saw Clarke's eyebrows raise in surprise. She opened her mouth, as though she wanted to say or ask something, but she clamped her mouth shut.

"Marcus!" she called out into the house, "Someone's at the door for you!" From inside, Murphy heard a clatter of metal on metal and the slamming of a door somewhere before the door opened wider as Clarke allowed Marcus to answer the door.

Internally, Murphy sighed and relaxed. The man in front of him was the right person. Obviously, Marcus had aged with time, but he Murphy thought he looked well enough for his age. His hair had gone silver in some spots and he had grown a beard that reminded him of a lumberjack or maybe Jesus, which was also streaked with silver. His eyes looked a bit older with several laugh lines littered around them but otherwise lacked any type of wrinkles.

"Can I help you?" he asked, his voice kind. Murphy rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly and shifted to put his weight on his other foot.  He felt the slight amount of hope that had been burning in his gut dim as he struggled for words.

"Do you remember me, Mr. Kane?" he asked.  
He felt a whoosh of cold hair through his head. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Paxton eyeing him sternly, like a scolding parent.

"Look at the man when you talk," Paxton said. "He can't even see your face properly."  
Murphy tried to make eye contact but settled for looking at a place just beyond Kane's head. He cleared his throat and clenched his hands into fists to hide the fact that they had started to shake as his nerves became more frazzled.

"It's John. John Murphy."

 For a moment, his heart seized in anticipation of rejection, but felt the organ fall back into rhythm as he saw Marcus' reaction.He took Murphy in from head to toe and from toe to head several times before his hand dropped from the doorknob. His mouth opened in shock before he quickly closed it only to open it again, speechless. 

"Come in," he said finally, as a smile crawled onto his face. He moved out of the way and waved Murphy inside. He suddenly felt awkward as he stepped inside the home; for the longest time he had lived in the house, so to be treated as a guest felt bizarre and unnatural to say the least. "Hope you're hungry. We were just about to eat; I'll put down a fifth place for you." He headed back towards the kitchen, and Murphy continued to stand in the foyer like an idiot as he took in the familiarity of the house's innards.

* * *

  
Emori clapped eagerly as Murphy entered into the foyer.  
"He remembers you! That's great!"  
"Passed phase one," Paxton said. He walked through Murphy, which sent a chill up his spine and entered the house and poked his head into the dining room. "Nice place. Reminds me of one of the first places I squatted in. Of course, there was no furniture though."

Kane led him into the dinning room where the table was already set, all it was missing was the people and the plates of food. From the adjacent kitchen he could smell something heavenly-some type of meat and several different spices filtered through his nostrils. He inched his way further into the house, Paxton and Emori trailing behind him. 

Interested in to see what was for dinner, Murphy entered the kitchen, where the succulent smells of roasted meat intensified. A woman, her back facing him, worked over the stove as she minded several pots at once.

"Abby, you remember John, right?" Marcus asked. The woman who had his back to him turned and analyzed John for the briefest of moments. She wiped her hands on a dish towel and nodded.

"Yes, I remember him." She smiled in Murphy's direction. "Although he looks a lot different from what I remember."

_Abby Griffin and Marcus Kane living together. Who would have thought?_ The only other thought that ran through his mind as he watched the couple enter the dining room was  _What happened to Mr. Griffin-Jake Griffin?_ He pushed the thought aside for the time being-that wasn't an appropriate question to ask at dinner. 

He followed Abby and Kane into the dining room and headed to the far side of the table where an empty chair sat at the end of the table. As he headed over to his spot, a smaller girl zoomed past him to the seat across from Clarke.

"Madi, we have a guest!" Abby said, "We don't want to flatten him." The younger girl glanced at him, as though just realizing that he was there. She smiled hesitantly.  
"Sorry," she muttered. "I didn't know we had guests." 

"It's fine. I'm not that easy to run over."

He took his seat at the table and waited to see If they were the type of family to say grace. He'd hate to embarrass himself by taking food before they said grace. Emori and Paxton circled around the table as everyone took their seats, eyeing the meal longingly.

"Is anyone cold," Abby asked. She rubbed her upper arms. "Are you cold, John?" Despite the fact that he felt goosebumps along his arms and neck from where Paxton had placed his hands on his shoulders, he had grown use to the cold that accompanied their spirit bodies. He could understand if others became cold just by the presence of a spirit alone.  
"I'm fine."

"Too bad we can't eat," McCreary muttered as he eyed the spread of food. "Looks fucking delicious!" Emori nodded in agreement as she sat herself onto the only empty corner of the table. "I never remembered having a meal like this when I was alive. It's such a shame."

"Tell us if it's good or not, John," Emori said. She sighed sadly, "I miss the taste of a good roast."

* * *

  
 After dinner had finished, while Clarke and Madi had departed from the table fairly quickly and Abby had started to transfer all the dishes into the kitchen to clean, Marcus had decided to read the paper as he drank after dinner tea. Murphy thought it would be an opportune time to ask Marcus about taking up residence in his house again. He hated to think of freeloading-that was not his plan-he needed to get a job, and he had set tomorrow aside just for that.

"Uh, Marcus..." he started. He curled his hands into loose fists and rested them on the table, unsure about how to proceed. He didn't want to intrude on his household. Even though Kane had shared his home with Murphy when he was younger, there was no certainty that he would share it with him again. "Would you mind if I stayed here a little while? Just until I get myself a job and start making some money. I'll be out as soon-"

"Of course not." Kane said, cutting him off. He folded his paper up, smiled and got up from the table and headed toward the stairs. "You can take the guest room." He led Murphy up the familiar stairs and all the way down the hall. The door swung open to a very neat room.  
He recognized the room, even though it lacked any personality of the former owner. This room had belonged to Kane's mother, Vera. It had been stripped bare except for the bed, dresser and night stand. Murphy felt a twinge of sorrow hit his heart; Vera had been one the sweetest people Murphy had ever met and she had genuinely liked him from the moment he arrived, and he couldn't express verbally how happy that had made him. He hoped that her spirit wouldn't mind him taking her room.  
"It's good to have you back." Kane lingered in the doorway, his arms braced against the door frame, his eyes watching Murphy. Murphy turned and gave a small smile and nodded in agreement; it was definitely a good feeling to be back, albeit it felt a bit foreign at the same time.

"I kept your things, you know," Kane continued. "In case you ever came back. I put them in the attic. Feel free to go and look and keep what you want." He patted Murphy once on the shoulder, his smile wrinkling the corners of his eyes. He had to admit that it was nice to feel welcomed back after all these years, as though he hadn't been absent for almost a decade. It gave Murphy a warm, pleasant feeling deep in his gut. He hadn't had such a nice feeling of belonging in a long while, at least, not since before Paxton and Emori had bit the bullet.

"Well, make yourself at home. I'm probably going to retire for the night."

"Good night." Without any further words, Marcus turned and headed off down the hall towards the master bedroom. Murphy felt himself frown slightly as he poked his head out into the hall and watched Marcus retreat to the master bedroom. Despite being surprised at the sudden return to his house, Marcus seemed to want to avoid asking about his disappearance. Emori poked her head out into the hallway through the wall and stared off in the direction Marcus had gone. She glanced back at him, as though she was reading his mind.

'I'm sure he'll ask about where you'd gone to." she said. "Give him so time to fully digest your sudden presence."

He dumped his bag near the dresser and then sank graciously onto the bed. It had been awhile since he had had a comfortable bed to himself that wasn't located in a motel. He doubt that establishments like that cleaned the linen well.  
"Now what? Are you going to go to sleep?" Emori asked. Murphy shrugged and pulled off his socks and shoes as he prepared to crawl into bed. He wasn't sure whether or not if he'd be able to sleep tonight. His mind felt restless which made his body feel the same.

He got up from the bed to stash his T-shirt and pants in the dresser. As he headed back over toward the bed, Paxton stepped in front of him and placed a hand on his chest. The cold spot radiated across his chest. "Take the bell off."

His hand wrapped around the bell defensively. "What? Why?"  
"There's someone else here," Emori said. She perked up and glanced around the room eagerly, sensing an energy that Murphy's protection bell kept invisible. "She said she knows you. She wants to talk to you."  
Paxton nodded in agreement. "Some old lady. Said she died in the house a few years back. Is the mom of your foster dad." Murphy raised his eyebrows in surprise, his hand dropping away from the bell around his neck. Who Paxton described sounding familiar; if he had been anywhere else, he couldn't have been sure, but in Marcus' house, there was only one spirit that it could be since he had failed to see the woman in the flesh upon returning.

  
"Vera?"

After a moment, his friends nodded. Murphy glanced down at the bell that hung around his neck. He hated taking the thing off. Normally, whenever he did that, spirits that were stuck in limbo would come and harass him to help them cross over. Even if he had wanted to help the spirits, most of the time he had no idea who they were so there was no way he could fulfill a stranger's wish if he had no knowledge of who they were talking about. But if they gave him accurate descriptions of this woman, and if Murphy's guess was correct, than taking the bell off for a few moments would be okay.

The spirit appeared slowly; her apparition was much weaker than that of Emori's or Paxton's. Whereas they were nearly solid in looks, this figure wavered in and out, like static line on a television screen. It made seeing her physical features a bit harder, but he knew who it was; he was right, it was Vera.

She was just as he remembered here. A lady with a rounded face, short hair and a nearly always present smile. 

"Oh, John, sweetie," she exclaimed, "You've gotten so big. I barely recognized you with that stubble and haircut. And what's with the tattoo?" Murphy rubbed at the tattoo absently and smiled sheepishly.  
"That wasn't my doing. At least not when I was sober." 

"Who are they?" she asked, nodding towards Emori and Paxton, who were making themselves comfortable on one side of the bed.  
"Friends," he replied curtly.

Vera stepped forward and reached out and caressed his face gently, sending shivers down his spine as her hand swept through him. Her expression showed concern.  
"Where did you go sweetheart?" she asked. "Everyone thought you'd run off. Well...Marcus never thought that. Neither did I." He stared at Vera for a moment, his eyes meeting hers. He felt a lump forming in his throat at the mention of her words; it felt reassuring to know that not everyone thought that he was the type to runaway from home. And he would have loved to tell Vera where he had gone, but he really didn't want to reopen old wounds.

It hurt enough when they healed the first time.

He swallowed past the lump in his throat and blinked back tears. "I don't really want to talk about it. Not now." Vera frowned but nodded; he assumed that she could see the pain in his eyes. She had always been good at reading people, and that seemed to continue even after life. She patted him on the shoulder.

"Well, you know I'm here if you ever want to talk." She smiled. "It's so good to see you though, I missed you. I regretted leaving Marcus alone...but he has Abby now, so that's something. And now he has you too."

"Vera...when did you..." his words trailed off. He had never asked a spirit how they had died before.

"Not long after you'd gone," she replied, her shoulders slumping. Her form wavered and flickered as she moved to the window. "Maybe a month or so. Pneumonia again, but with complications of the flu as well. My poor old lungs couldn't take it anymore." She turned back to him, and seeing his expression, rushed forward and wrapped her arms around him. All the hair on his arms and on the back of his neck stood up on end.

"Don't you fret about that, dear. My death had nothing to do with you if that's what you think." She smiled again, although her eyes shown with sadness. " Well, I'll let you get some sleep." And just as she had appeared, she disappeared. He hoped that she would be able to come back when she wanted, even if he was wearing his protection bell. He'd have to wait and see what happened.

He slipped the bell back over his head and crawled into bed. He settled himself into a comfortable position and felt a ghostly arm wrap around his middle. Even in death, Emori still loved to cuddle.

Tomorrow, he'd have to go out and search for a job. He was thankful that Charmaine had urged-forced- him to finish his schooling and get a GED; without it, it probably would have been a lot harder to get a job. He hoped that he'd be able to find something where he could put some of his skills to use. Murphy readjusted the pillows and made himself comfortable so that he could stare at the ceiling and the wall opposite him.

"I missed this place. I missed you and Marcus too," he said, hoping that Vera could hear him. That was no lie. He had never gotten a chance to say goodbye to Vera before she had passed on. And he had missed this house; unlike the cabin he'd been confined too, this house held an air of warmth and comfort. It was welcoming, just as it had been all those years ago when he had first stepped through Kane's door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Kudos, comments and constructive criticism is appreciated and welcomed, however, please don't be a troll.


	4. The Open Grave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback to a Halloween where Murphy gets the bell that keeps away the spirits. It is also his first Halloween where he starts to take a liking towards Bellamy Blake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy! Sorry that this story is such a slow build. It gets better and it also gets darker. I honestly would appreciate some more written feedback since I am considering taking the entire story down since my own indecisive nature can't decide whether I like this or not.  
> Also, sorry about any typo or grammatical errors.

" _I don't know that there are real ghosts and goblins, but there are always more trick-or-treaters than neighborhood kids_ "~ Robert Brault

 

 

 

**Chapter Four: The Open Grave**  
_Then_  
_Age 9_

He hadn't expected anyone he knew to be at the door, but he was genuinely surprised to see Bellamy Blake and his younger sister at the door. John had never managed to grasp the skill of making friends well, but he and Octavia hadn't gotten along well in the first place. It hadn't purposefully meant to trip and splatter paint all over her in art class, but she seemed to hold it against him as someone who loved to cause misfortune for others. Bellamy however, seemed to have taken pity on him, and although Murphy didn't particularly like the thought of that, he thought that maybe...just maybe, that Bellamy could be his friend.

He learned that Marcus had a soft spot in his heart for both Blake siblings and John had learned that at some time in the past, Marcus had had a relationship with the Blake siblings' mother, Aurora. Last Thanksgiving, Vera and Marcus had invited the Blakes over for dinner, and that was when John had wished that he was more like Bellamy. Marcus doted on Bellamy in a way that made John jealous. He thought that perhaps it was because Bellamy was several years older and perhaps more tolerable than John; he'd been told enough times in his life that he was an annoying brat.

"Hey, Murphy. We were wondering if you wanted to come trick or treating with us and some other kids." The request in itself silenced him as his brain took a moment to process all the words. No one ever invited him to do anything or go anywhere.

"You want me to join you guys? he asked, slightly stunned. He fought back a smile; he shouldn't get his hopes up, for all he knew, they were planning on pranking him. Bellamy was the only one who nodded an affirmative while Octavia just looked annoyed.

"You have to have a costume," she suggested loudly, pushing her brother aside. "They give you less candy if you don't have a costume." Murphy nodded  in understanding and briefly thought of what he could put together as a last minute costume. Halloween hadn't been a fun occasion since his father had passed and his mother hadn't attempted to make it any fun, so for the past four years, he'd been at home on All Hallows Eve.

"We'll meet outside our house just down the street," Bellamy said. "Bring a flashlight for when it gets dark." He nodded in understanding and watched as the two siblings headed back down the street to their house.

He held in an excited whoop until he had closed the door. He went to find Marcus, who had been reading the paper to occupy his day off from work. Without asking for permission to disturb his guardian, he explained his conversation at the door.  
  
"It's okay if I go, right?" he asked. Marcus placed the paper he'd been reading down.

"I suppose so. You said Bellamy and Octavia and invited you to join them?" Murphy nodded in affirmation. 

Marcus smiled lightly. "Well, Bellamy's a good kid. He'll make sure you're all safe. Just be careful out there."

* * *

The group of kids that loitered in front of Bellamy's house was larger than what he thought it would have been. But what should he have been expecting, Bellamy Blake was popular and it didn't shock him that he didn't know any of the kids from Bellamy's grade other than Lincoln, who was dressed as a Grim Reaper and as quiet as Death himself. The other three, Ontari, Echo and Roan, he only knew by name and knew nothing else about them; they looked like an intimidating bunch though, even though the girls were dressed in fairly revealing fairy costumes and Roan was dressed in poorly fitting armor.

Nearly everyone that turned to stare at him held an icy stare of "Go away", everyone except for Bellamy. He looked happy to see him here. He had actually stopped his conversation with Roan and Echo and came over to say hello. 

He realized Bellamy was dressed a police officer, which Murphy thought was fitting for the older boy. He definitely seemed like the type to become a cop in the future if he wanted to. Although, after seeing everyone in their costumes, and seeing how much better they were than his, Murphy felt self-conscious. In haste, he had bought a tube of fake blood and had splattered the stuff all over an oversized button down white shirt and a pair of dress pants that he didn't care for and had called himself a zombie.

 "Cool costume. I like how you didn't hold back on the gore."  
Murphy glanced down at himself, wondering if Bellamy's words were just to be nice and not actually genuine; he hoped they were the truth though  
"Thanks," he said quietly, smiling. "I like your cop hat."

Bellamy smiled and tugged the hat a bit snugger on his head. "Thanks." He turned towards the rest of the crew and got everyone's attention.  
"I think that's everyone, let's head out."

They made their way slowly throughout the neighborhood. Out of the groups they saw in the streets, Murphy assumed that they were probably one of the largest he'd seen all night. And due to their size, it made it a hassle to stand out on people's porches. And as the sun finally set below the horizon, there were people that had actually run out of candy. It seemed that this Halloween had had a surprisingly good turn out, which was new to Murphy; his last few Halloween's had been dead quiet with maybe a dozen or so kids at the door begging for treats.

As they continued their way up the streets, Murphy tried to edge and shove his way up to the front of their human train so he could talk with Bellamy. Clarke, who was the youngest in Bellamy's group she had hung around him and the other older kids all night long, and they hadn't complained about her once. So they _should_ have no reason to complain about him either.  
  
He had almost succeeded in edging his way to the head of the train when he was suddenly shoved back. One of the girls who had dressed as some sort of fairy-Ontari- turned to face him.

"Why don't you go hang out with Octavia and the others...you know, kids your own age," she said. She had this sweet smile on her face, although her eyes held a menace that made his blood run cold. Reluctantly, he sunk to the back of the pack with Octavia and the others.

Murphy glared at the small group in front of them, wishing he could be up there talking to Bellamy instead of stuck in the back of the human train with Octavia, Monty, Jasper, Finn and Raven; they had all made it clear enough that none of them were very fond of Murphy. The only reason they were tolerating him was because Bellamy had invited him and if Bellamy said he could stay, then everyone would have to suck it up and deal with it.

As the night grew longer, the amount of people of the streets diminished until it was mostly older children that wandered about. Seeming to see that most of the younger kids had scuttled back to their homes for the night, Bellamy stopped the group and turned to face them.  
"I'm thinking maybe we should turn in for the night-"  
"Not yet, Bell," Octavia cried. "Just a few more houses." Octavia's friends nodded in encouragement. Bellamy glanced over to his friends.  
  
"What about you guys," he asked. All of them except for Clarke shrugged.  
"It is getting kind of late," Clarke said, "We should go home."

"Okay-"  
"We don't want to go home yet," Octavia declared, cutting her brother off before he could finish saying anything. "Let's split up. You guys can go home, and we can make our way back by looping around back into our neighborhood."

Bellamy frowned and glared at his sister; clearly he did not want to negotiate. His eyes tried to plead with her, although Octavia's eyes were bold, bright and defiant.  
  
"Please, Bell? We'll be real careful."

"Fine. Loop around back to our neighborhood. Head straight home," he said, his voice stern.  
  
Octavia smiled in delight and redirected her friends in the opposite direction. For the slightest moment, Murphy thought that maybe he'd be able to join Bellamy and his group, but one glance in the second group's direction awarded him with several glares from Bellamy's friends. He refrained from sighing and ran off to catch up with Octavia and others.

This was not exactly how he'd hope things would go tonight.

* * *

  
"You guys want to make a detour through here," Finn asked. He cocked his head towards a large pair of iron gates that led into Arkadia's cemetery. Octavia and the others glanced to the graveyard beyond the gates. Octavia smiled brightly and practically bounced over to the gates with excitement. She pulled on the gate and it creaked open on rusted hinges.  
"There's no Keep Out sign," Octavia said, smiling wide, "We could just go for a quick stroll."  

"Oh, that sounds like some spooky fun," Jasper exclaimed. He followed after Finn and Octavia, who had opened the gate up further and were waiting for the others to join them. Monty and Raven followed them without complaint but Murphy stayed on the path that led back to the main street. Bellamy's words echoed in his ears; what kind of idiots were these guys? Bellamy's instructions weren't that difficult to follow. 

"But your brother-"  
Everyone stopped and turned to stare at him. Octavia had an amused expression on her face, as did all the others. Murphy wished he hadn't said anything as he felt a heated wave of embarrassment wash through him from his face down to his stomach.  
  
"Are you scared, Murphy?" Finn asked, smiling gleefully. "I'm sure Raven would hold your hand if you're going to act like a big baby. She's good at babysitting." Raven shoved Finn in the shoulder, who chuckled at his own stupid joke.

 "I'm not scared," he said, trying not to sound overly defensive. "But I know how to follow directions. Bellamy told us-"  
"Bellamy told us-" Finn mimicked. "I didn't know you were such a stickler for rules. I thought that was Monty."

 Murphy groaned internally. He hated peer pressure and even though he clearly saw that Finn was clearly trying to egg him on, Murphy just wanted to go home for the night. For October, the nights had grown cold and he had been stupid enough to not bring a jacket; he couldn't be the only one that was cold. But if he had to be honest, he didn't know the way back by heart, not in the dark anyway; besides, it was safer to stay in a group. Reluctantly, Murphy joined the group beyond the gate and followed them through the tombstones.

They wandered amongst the headstones and called out the strangest names they found, or the oldest dates they could find. The entire time, Murphy wished he had brought a jacket and had bitten his tongue several times to stop himself from voicing a complaint. The last thing he wanted was to be a scaredy-cat and whiner, Finn and the others would have a grand old time at school of calling him out on it for who knows how long.

Judging by the headstones the started to pass now, he assumed that they had made their way to the newer section. The headstones here didn't look quite as weather worn or dirty from years of sitting exposed to the elements. The area they were in now mostly consisted of the flat markers that were hard to see since they were hidden in the ground, and even with the trimmed grass, were still difficult to see. Unlike most of the others, Murphy tried to avoid stepping on the headstones; he knew how to be respectful, unlike some people it seemed.

He had nearly passed an open grave, dug for some poor to be buried the next day when he felt a shove from behind and was sent headfirst into the open grave. He landed in the cold dirt face first and accidentally inhaled a huge mouthful of soil as he landed while the candy in his bag scattered all over the grave floor. He spat out the dirt and coughed several times to clear whatever dirt had gotten caught in his throat. He heard the others laughing at him, and as he glanced up he could see all their heads staring down at him.

"What a klutz," Octavia laughed. Murphy glared up at her, but bit his tongue from saying something that would only satisfy her more. "C'mon guys, let's go home before Bellamy comes looking for us." Finn, Jasper and Octavia disappeared from his view while Monty and Raven lingered a moment longer. They looked at each other and then back down at him. 

"Leave him!" he heard Finn yell. "Let the scaredy-cat cry for help!" 

"Hey! Guys!" He tried to hide the whine in his voice. "Don't just leave me here."

All he heard in response was their retreating footsteps and laughter. 

 "Great," he muttered under his breath. He stared up at the ledge of the grave, wondering if he could grab it if he jumped. He attempted several times to grab the edge by running and jumping, only to fail miserably with each attempt he made.

Tired from trying to jump out and growing cold from the chilled night air, Murphy sat down and leaned against one of the dirt walls. It seemed like he'd be stuck here until morning. 

He had just started to doze off when he heard, "Need a lift out?" The voice nearly made him jump out of his skin. He glanced up and in the pale moonlight, he saw an elderly man peering down at him; he assumed it was the night groundskeeper. Hastily, Murphy got to his feet. He offered a hand up towards the man.

"That'd be nice."

His hands were cold, but despite his age, the man pulled him up without any difficulty.

"Thank you." he said as he dusted dirt from his bloody costume.

The man nodded politely in return and carried on his way through the headstones. As he walked, he faded into nothing; Murphy had to blink several times to make sure he wasn't seeing things. He looked away and then back, but the man that had pulled him out was nowhere to be seen. 

"Weird," he muttered. He rubbed his arms as a sudden gust of wind blew through the cemetery, stirring up loose leaves as it did so. Murphy redirected himself towards the main entrance of the cemetery which connected to the main street. Through the iron fence that surrounded the perimeter of the cemetery, Murphy could see no one around; the others had truly abandoned him; he'd expected as much.

 He didn't know why, but instead of heading straight for the exit he found himself walking down a row of flat headstones until he came to a stop at one about halfway down the row. When he looked at the name, he felt tears spring into his eyes.

His father's grave.  
He hadn't been here since the day they buried him three years ago. His mother had never wanted to visit his fahter's final resting place after the funeral. It had saddened him that she never wanted to visit him; Murphy could only imagine how lonely his father must have been. When he thought on it, he wasn't sure if he had cried at the funeral. 

A cold sensation walked up his arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. He turned around and fell over in shock. 

"Dad?"

The man smiled and knelt down to Murphy's level. He looked just as Murphy remembered him; his hair, his eyes, his smile-everything was the same. His hand brushed through Murphy's hair affectionately, and although the ghostly touch left him shivering like he'd been trapped in a freezer, the excitement in seeing his father ignited a warm fire inside his chest.

His fingers dug into the earth as he reminded himself that he wasn't able to touch a ghost. What did you say to the spirit of a deceased loved one? He struggled enough with trying to wrap his brain around the concept that what he was saying was real and not some hallucination or illusion.

"I miss you," he said, finally managing to get his brain to cooperate with his tongue and mouth. He felt tears running down his cheeks now, but he didn't wipe them away. He didn't dare blink out of fear that the ghostly apparition disappeared. Although he never openly admitted it to anyone, he'd give an arm and a leg to see his dad again.

His dad smiled, wider this time.  
"I miss you too, buddy," he said. His words sounded distant an seemed to echo, although there was nothing for the sound to deflect off of. "I love you."

He felt his heart stop momentarily at hearing those words ring through his ears. He hadn't heard those words in a long time; he had never been able to recall his mother saying that to him, at least not after his father's passing. He struggled to say something else in response, but he couldn't find the force needed to push past the sudden lump in his throat.

 His dad stood and turned to walk away and like the unknown man that had lifted him from the grave, he faded and vanished into thin air. 

"Dad?" Murphy glanced all around him, wondering if his father had apparated somewhere else. Sadly though, he was alone again. Murphy rubbed the tears from him eyes and sniffled. His heart deflated a bit; the short amount of time with his father hadn't been long enough; any time with his father's spirit would never have been long enough.

Slowly, Murphy got back to his feet and wrapped his arms around himself. The cold from his father's spirit and the cold from the wind felt very different; it was only the wind that seemed to chill him to the bone while the spirit's touch only went skin deep. He glanced towards the main entrance to the cemetery and set his course there. 

He had taken one step forward when he heard a small jingle and saw something twinkle in his peripheral vision. He glanced downward towards his father's resting place. Resting on the corner of the marker was a small bell attached to a silver chain. It hadn't been there before, and Murphy had no idea as to who would leave this at his father's grave. He picked it up and examined it. When the bell rang, it seemed to echo, just like his dad's voice had.  It held a sweet musical sound to it.

It had been resting on his dad's grave, so he supposed it would be okay if he kept it. He slipped the chain over his head and held the bell close to his heart. Maybe it was a gift from his dad's spirit. Could spirits even give gifts to the living? Despite being abandoned in a cemetery of all places, Murphy didn't feel  abandoned. Having seen his dad, the warm fire in his chest had spread to his entire body.

It was a strangely good feeling and he didn't want it to fade.

Murphy finally exited the cemetery, still in awe at what he had experienced. He was sure that no one would believe if he recounted tonight's events; he'd be labeled as having a vivid imagination, or crazy. He decided it'd be best if he kept it to himself; maybe someday in the future, someone would believe him. However, now was not the time to go spouting crazy ghost stories.

* * *

"John!" 

Marcus rushed down the front steps and up to him as he approached the front of the house. He knelt down to Murphy's level and placed his hands on John's shoulders.

"Are you okay?" he asked. Murphy nodded mutely. He noticed the muscles in Marcus' shoulders relax. He drew Murphy close and wrapped him into a hug. For a moment, John stood there in shock as his brain struggled to reciprocated an appropriate response. Slowly, he leaned into the touch and hugged Marcus in return, unsure about how to tight to hug in response. It had been awhile since anyone had given him a good proper hug. It was nice though.

"Why didn't you come back with the others?" Marcus asked. "What happened? I thought you were supposed to be with Bellamy and a some others." Out of his peripheral vision, he saw someone sitting on the porch steps shift uncomfortably. His eyes flitted away from Marcus for a moment and was surprised to see that Bellamy was sitting on the steps. Murphy thought that he looked somewhat guilty and he understood why; technically, he'd been responsible for Murphy and had failed in keeping everyone under control.

"What happened, dear?" Vera asked, drawing his attention away from Bellamy. She hovered over Marcus' shoulder nervously. "You look like you went rolling in a ditch of dirt."  
"I got shoved into an open grave."  
  
"Who did that to you?" they asked in unison.  
  
"Octavia and her friends."

"I'm sorry, Kane," Bellamy said. He stood up from where he sat and approached Murphy and Marcus. "I shouldn't have agreed to split up. I know my sister can be a bit-"  
  
Marcus held out his hand, stopping Bellamy mid sentence. "It's fine, Bellamy. Really, I'm not blaming you. I'm just glad John's home safe." Bellamy nodded and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.  
"I am sorry though," he said. Murphy stared for a moment before he realized that this apology was directed towards him. "About my sister. I wouldn't have agreed to split up if I'd known she'd planned on doing something like that."

"It's okay," he said flatly, "It wasn't really her idea to go in the grave yard anyway. That was Finn's fault."  
Bellamy hummed and nodded, his eyes thoughtful. He slowly took Murphy in from head to toe, assessing him the same way Vera had. "You didn't hurt yourself when you fell in, did you?"  
He clutched the bell close to his chest and nodded again. "I'm fine Bellamy." He didn't know what else to say. He hadn't been hurt and that was that.

Seemingly satisfied with that answer, he nodded and went back over to grab his hat and candy bag from the steps and turned back to him.

"You can have it all," Bellamy said, holding the nearly overflowing bag to him. "I'll just steal from Octavia. She deserves it anyway." Hesitantly, Murphy took the bag and placed it at his feet.  
"...Thanks." He didn't know what else to say. He had his own candy bag, but it was only now that he realized that all his candy collected that night still rested at the bottom of the open grave. Bellamy smiled and turned to head back to his house.

"Can we hang out some time?" John asked before the older boy fell out of earshot. He averted his gaze as Bellamy turned back and John felt his teeth chewing anxiously on his bottom as he mentally slapped himself for being suddenly so impulsive. But if he had to be honest with himself, he liked Bellamy, and Bellamy didn't treat him like a bug in the shower, so perhaps a friendship could be grown from that.

"Yeah, I'd like that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed!  
> Just a heads up that in future chapters there will be dreams, which will be written in italics.  
> Also: Feedback! Feedback! I would love some more written feedback to know what other people think about this story, because right now, I am borderline about taking this down and just posting some one shots instead.


	5. Job Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murphy goes job hunting and runs into some old school mates. Meanwhile, Marcus continues to wonder what brought John back to him after all these years and confides in Abby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy! Thought I'd mention again that there will be dreams inserted in this and perhaps in later chapters as well. They will be in italics, so hopefully no one gets confused.

"Choose a job you love and you will never have to work a day in your life." ~ unknown

 **Chapter Five: Job Hunt**  
_Now_

 

_A small infant, no older than several months, laid before him, clad entirely in white. It stared at him with large dark eyes, overflowing with tears. Its weak snuffles turned into cries, which turned into ear splitting sobbing. Its cries echoed off the surrounding walls, ricocheting back towards him. The reverberated sound made the walls shake with such fierceness that dust began to fall from the ceiling._ _Th_ _e room spun and as the dizzying sensation increased, Murphy felt his stomach protest and he fell to his knees, heaving, until nothing but an acrid taste  was left on his tongue.  
  
When the room had stilled and he looked up again, a __woman in a red dress stood before him, her hands out stretched towards him. She wore a smile on her face, and she was beckoning him forward. Her lips moved, but whatever she said was lost as he heard no sound. As though in a trance, Murphy felt his feet move forward on their own automatically._

_A dark skinned man, dressed in a cops uniform suddenly stood next to her, seemingly popping up as soon as he was within arms reach of the woman. He towered over Murphy even though there was not that much a height difference. His face was mangled into an expression of anger. Both his hands were covered in blood, but there was no glimpse of what had caused the  large wounds in the middle of both hands._

_The man and woman evaporated as a cold breeze whooshed through the room. The room spun again, faster than the first time and  when it stilled again, Murphy found himself on his hands and knees again, dry heaving. When everything around him had stilled, he found himself outside, surrounded by nothing but forest. He heard a loud yelp that bounced off the walls, a sound that reminded him of the sound a dog makes when it has been hurt. As he got to his feet and turned around, he came face to face with two unmarked graves._ _They leered at him almost menacingly, as though he was the one who had put the bodies into the ground. The ground opened up next to them and a third cross rose from the ground. He peered down inside the open grave and was met with pitch darkness._

_The forest disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared. The forest floor below him also disappeared, dissolving into nothingness._  
_He tumbled down, down down...._

  
He woke with a start, his breath catching in his throat. He kept his eyes closed as his heart pounded painfully against chest like a humming bird.  
"You are not going to wake him up!"  
"Damn right I'm going to wake him up. We can't let him keep doing that."  
Murphy moaned in annoyance at the sound of his constant companions' bickering; he wanted to go back to sleep even though his dreamland only seemed to offer bad dreams for the time being. He felt a chilled breeze run across his body, as though one of them had tried to rip the covers off of him.

  
Bleary eyed, he opened his eyes and stared at Paxton, who stared  back at him with a frown on his face.  
"God, you are embarrassing!"  
"Shut up, Paxton!" Emori snapped. She sat on the edge of the bed and eyed Murphy sympathetically. "Bad dreams?"  
He sat up in bed and ran a hand through his hair. Normally, when he experienced nightmares, he woke coated in sweat as though he had run a marathon in the night. However, this morning that wasn't the case, the dream he could recall had been bizarre but his subconscious had decided to give him a break and spare any truly terrifying details.

He shook his head. "I don't think so. Why?"  
"You were sucking your thumb again." Paxton said. He leaned up against the dresser as he eyed Murphy with disapproval. Murphy felt himself blush as his face grew hot and felt embarrassment flood through his system like a sudden tidal wave.

"Don't be like that, McCreary," Emori exclaimed, sounding exasperated. She turned to Murphy, who picked at his fingernails, his eyes averted from hers. She placed her hand on-through- his ankle, which sent a cold chill up his leg. "You don't have to be embarrassed. We've seen you do that before."

He nodded although her words washed over him without him actually hearing them. When he had met the two of them, they had rudely and abruptly become acquainted with his nightmares and terrors and strange behavior. When he had reluctantly told them where he had come from and what had happened to him, they had become sympathetic with him, or perhaps it had been pity; he had never been able to distinguish one from the other.

And over the passing years, their comfort and acceptance had made him hate himself and all his trauma that leaked through his subconscious slightly less. Now with them gone, there was no one there in the morning to comfort him. Not physically at least; the physical contact they gave him had felt so good, so needed. He liked to think that the thumb sucking was a way to comfort himself now that Emori and Paxton could not, but he knew that it was a big lie. The thumb sucking had started before he had met the pair, but he still thought it was an attempt at soothing himself.

He threw the covers off of himself and dressed in a hurry, ignoring his ghostly companions all the while. He felt shitty enough knowing he'd fallen back into a habit he thought he'd killed and he didn't need to hear them talk about; talking about it just made him realize how real it actually was and sometimes, it felt nice to fall into a place in his head where no problems existed. As he left the room the other two stayed behind; he heard Emori smack Paxton and mutter something too quiet for his ears to pick up.

When he entered the kitchen, he saw Vera seated at the kitchen island. She nodded good morning to him and turned her attention to the cabinets. Her eyes slowly analyzed the kitchen before she averted her gaze to a set of keys that sat in the middle of the counter.   
"Always leaving things where they shouldn't be," she scolded lightly under her breath. He'd seen Emori or Paxton move an object once or twice in their ghostly life, but where it had seemed very difficult for them, it seemed to come easy for Vera as she moved the keys from one end of the island to the other.

"I don't like what they've done with the kitchen," Vera exclaimed. "I liked it better when the cupboards were wood instead of this glass. Really, who needs to see how the dishes are stacked?"  
Murphy glanced at the cupboards and squinted as he tried to remember what the originals had looked like when he'd lived in the house.  
  
"I suppose you're right." Murphy said. He opened up the fridge and pulled out a carton of orange juice. "No one needs to see how you stack the dishes." He opened up one of the cabinets and pulled down a glass. "Although it does make finding things easier for guests, I suppose."

"You talk to yourself a lot."  After he stored the orange juice back in the fridge, he turned to see Madi standing on the threshold of the kitchen, watching him with a suspicious look on her face. 

"Sorry to be a distraction dear," Vera said, "A dead old woman's thoughts matter only to other ghosts I suppose." She got up from her spot that she was seated in and vacated the kitchen to haunt some other part of the house.  
  
Murphy smirked and turned his attention to Madi. "It's called thinking aloud." Madi stared at him a moment longer before she walked past him. She opened one of the cupboards near the fridge and pulled down a box of Rice Krispies.  
"Well, it's weird," she said, her back to him. "You're the first person I met who does that." Since he still had the fridge open already, he grabbed the milk for Madi and handed it to her.

"Marcus told me he fostered you. How long were you in the system?"  
"Not long. Marcus was the only foster parent I had aside from the Green family. They were nice though. Why?" 

Madi shrugged and poured a generous amount of milk into the bowl and the cereal made its signature  _Snap! Crackle! Pop!_.  
"I've been in the system since I was six. Clarke was in the Big Brothers and Sisters program and she convinced Abby and Marcus to foster me..."  
  
"Sounds like Clarke to me," he muttered. He took a sip of his orange juice before deciding to drain half the glass. "She was always a bit pushy in school."

"Clarke doesn't really like you," Madi said bluntly through her mouthfuls of cereal, "She thinks you might be dangerous." Murphy smirked. He hadn't expected Clarke to think any less of him, not even with all the years that had passed. Along with being pushy, he'd always thought that Clarke seemed a little full of herself. "Is it the facial tattoo?" Madi shrugged and pushed the cereal box away. She dug in and chewed loudly on the Rice Krispies.  
  
"I like it," she said, "It's cool."  
  
"That makes one of us," Murphy said. "It was done while I was completely wasted." He drained the rest of his drink and placed the empty glass in the sink." He started to leave the kitchen, intent on setting out to job hunt.

"Did he adopt you?" Madi asked quickly. When he looked back at the girl what he saw  were eyes wide with what Murphy could only describe as curiosity. Murphy felt his heart stutter for a moment at the mention of adoption. If only. He wished he'd been around long enough for Marcus to make that decision. He shook his head sadly as his gaze fell to the ground.

"No, he never adopted me."  
  
Madi frowned. "Why not?"  
  
"Long story short, I disappeared. I bet Marcus thought I was probably dead." Madi nodded solmenly, her gaze focused on her food.

"I want them to adopt me." The statement was quiet, be he still heard it all the same. He felt his heart skip a beat again. He felt the same- he'd have loved it if Marcus had adopted him as his own. It would have helped him forget his mother and the sad waste of a space she'd become after his father passed.

"I'm sure they will," he said. He smiled brightly at the girl, hoping that his smile actually looked like a smile and not a grimace. Even though he knew little more than her name, Madi seemed like a sweet young girl and anyone would have probably been glad to have her in their family.

* * *

He needed to find somewhere to work. At the moment, he felt like a freeloader at Marcus', even though it technically was his home as well. But he was at an age where he should be able to provide some sort of income for himself. He headed on foot to Arkadia's main town square where it had stores, restaurants, motels and more. Surely someone would be searching for a new hire, or somebody would take pity on his desperate soul.

"What about a mechanic," Paxton suggested. "There never seem to be enough of those."

"Mechanics?" Murphy repeated. He glanced in the direction of the shop. Loud classic rock music burst out the doors that were rolled open. He turned to Paxton and shook his head. "No. I'm not good with cars. You found that out the hard way."

"Don't remind me," Paxton said. "Nearly gave me an electric shock that could have killed me. Not to mention you almost set me and Vinson on fire-"  
"Those were all accidents," Murphy grumbled. He shoved his hands into his coat pockets and continued past the auto body shop. He glanced around in every business window as his mind wandered about as he thought about where his best options were.

He eventually came to one of the small diners in the main shopping area of Arkadia. What drew his attention was the 'Help Wanted' sign posted in the front window. He supposed it wouldn't hurt to apply here, especially if they were seeking people out.

Being just after breakfast and just before lunch, the diner was quiet except for the sound of 1950s music that came from overhead speakers. The longer he stood in the entranceway and took in the décor, the more he realized that this place was familiar; he remembered this place; he'd been here maybe once or twice before he'd been taken. Nothing much seemed to have changed about it other than that it seemed much cleaner. The checkerboard tile on the floor was white and black as it should be and not the tinted dingy yellow and black as he remembered.

"Hi there. Can I help you?"

He glanced towards the counter, where a young Asian man stood, pouring energy over some sort of order form of sheet. Nametag be damned, the slightly shaggy hair and the brown eyes that never seemed to hold any bad emotion in them were all he needed to go by to know that he'd managed to run into Monty Green.

From what he remembered of Monty, he'd been a queit kid, and one of Octavia's closer friends. And he was insanely smart. When he thought back on it, Murphy couldn't recall if even had had a proper conversation with the guy before. He'd shared a house with the guy and his family for a little while before Marcus had took him in, but he never really knew Monty without Jasper.   
  
He headed over to the counter, intent on asking about the job. But before he could even voice his question, he felt an anxiety creeping in as Monty's face changed to one of thought and he stared at Murphy intently for a moment.

"Do I know you?" he asked, a puzzled expression. He squinted and studied Murphy's face for a moment longer. He clicked his pen in thought and tapped it against his chin. "I swear I've seen you before."  
  
"We used to go to school together."  
  
"Murphy! God, you look different from the last time I saw your face!" Monty exclaimed. Murphy smiled awkwardly, interpreting Monty's words as a compliment.  
  
"What's a Brainiac like you doing working in a diner?" he asked. Inside, he felt himself cringing as he was faced with small talk, he wasn't that great at it. But even with three years to get reacquainted with socializing with others, he wasn't good at it, so he considered this practice.Monty glanced around the small establishment and shrugged.  
  
"It's my father-in-law's place actually. He gave Valley's Paradise to Harper in his will. I wanted to stay with her to help her run the place."

"Harper McIntyre? Are you two married?"

Monty nodded. "Yep." He gestured to the young woman who was busy wiping down tables, unaware of their eyes as she seemed lost in the music she was listening to through earbuds. "She and I were together pretty much all throughout high school. Been married for almost two years now."

"You're getting off topic," Paxton drawled. He took a seat at one of the stools at the counter and spun around in it, bored, "Ask about the job."

"I saw you had a help for hire sign," Murphy said. "Was wondering if I could apply for the job." Monty's eyebrows raised and he nodded enthusiastically.  
"Yeah, course you can apply. What we really need is another cook. Are you any good at cooking?" Murphy bit his tongue as he struggled to string an appropriate answer in his head. He could cook. Was he good? That depended on the person and also on how focused he was while cooking.  
  
Emori placed a hand on his shoulder, sensing his nervousness. "Remember you need to sell yourself," sher whispered, "But don't sound too cocky."  
  
"Ain't gourmet but I can cook."

Monty grabbed something from under the counter and slid it in front of Murphy. A menu, he realized. Monty opened up the menu and pointed to one of the dishes listed under breakfast. Murphy glanced at it and silently cursed his dyslexia as he read pure gibberish. It had been the reason why he'd never been all that good in school and why he'd never taken up reading as a hobby. It just got too difficult, especially if the writing was tiny.  
  
"Try and replicate that. I can give you the recipe but the rest is all you. I think if you can ace one of the more popular dishes, then you'll do just fine here." Murphy forced a smile onto his face. It wouldn't hurt to try, would it?

Monty led him through a swinging door that led into the kitchen. The kitchen  was pretty clean; the lights reflected off the stainless steel of the counter surfaces and the very shiny tile floor. The only mess he caught sight of was a large pile of potato and other vegetable peelings. Those peelings led up to a young man that was seated on a bucket, preoccupied by the action of vegetable peeling and whistling happily to himself. 

He glanced up from his work as Monty and Murphy came closer. He glanced at Murphy, a questioning look on his face.  
"Hey, who's this guy?" he asked Monty, his voice sounding slightly suspicious.

"Uh, you know him Miller, from when we were younger. Remember Murphy?"

"Shit man," Miller exclaimed. He took Murphy in from head to toe. "You got hot." He heard Paxton and Emori laugh, although he was sure it was because of his shocked, or rather, surprised expression than because of the statement itself. The Nathan Miller he remembered never seemed like the type of guy to be so blunt and honest about the words that tumbled from his mouth.  
  
"He's applying for the open cook position, so perhaps he'll be able to help you if Harper and I decide to give him the job." Monty said as he started pulling items from cupboards and the industrial refrigerator and placed them on the counter.  

 "Better get cooking then," Miller said jokingly. He replaced his earbuds into his ear and went back to peeling vegetables. Monty turned back to Murphy and pointed towards a spot on the wall next to the swinging doors.  
  
"Aprons are over there. I'll leave the rest up to you." He smiled and exited the kitchen, leaving Murphy to his own devices.

"Could you even read what that Monty guy was pointing at," Emori asked. Murphy shook his head as his eyes darted over the array of foods Monty had pulled out for him to use.

"You don't have to read to cook, Emori," Paxton said. He hovered over Murphy's shoulder, causing the hair on the back of his neck to rise, and eyed the ingredients that Miller and Monty had placed before him. "You've cooked before John. You're not half bad."

"I need you to be quiet," Murphy said harshly. 

Miller glanced up and looked at him with confusion. "I didn't say anything."  
  
"I wasn't talking to you," Murphy said. He restrained from slapping himself after those words left his mouth; his crazy was showing again. He didn't want to ruin this any further than he already had; if he looked like a loony and acted like a loony then no one would want him or his crazy, no matter how much need they were in for a new hire. 

Emori and Paxton backed off for the most part as he went about cooking. Although he had the recipe for some sort of weird crepe that Monty had given him, he couldn't be bothered to read it, it would have  taken much too long. As he worked, he hummed quietly, a habit he had picked up back when he had started working at Eligius. It helped him focus on the work while the world faded away.

It was only when he had started to place the dish and add the final touches to the dish by dusting the French Toast with powdered sugar that he suddenly felt both of them hovering over his shoulders again. Of all the breakfast items he could think of, he had chosen something easy and had made a French Toast Sandwich with egg, tomato and cheese in the middle.   
  
"Looks good!" Paxton said. "Wish I could have some. Send me an offering why don't you." Murphy scoffed and walked through him, ignoring the cold rush that went from his head to his toes.  
"You're not a god, you don't need any offerings."

Plate in hand, Murphy backed through the swinging kitchen door and back out behind the counter. Monty glanced up from whatever it was he'd been doing under the counter.  
"That was fast," he said. He glanced at the dish. "That wasn't what I asked you to make, but it still looks good." He waved over Harper, who was busying herself with counting the cash in the register. "Harper, you hungry?"

The first thing that caught Murphy's eye was Harper's very pregnant belly. He was surprised that she was still working when it looked like she was ready to pop any time. Harper laughed as she stored the cash back in the register and shut it.  
  
"I might not be, but the baby might be. Why?" she said as she approached the two of them Monty motioned for her to sit and Murphy slid the plate in front of her. She glanced at it for a moment than glanced towards Monty.

"Is this even on the menu?"

"No..." Monty said.  
"But I hope you like it," Murphy said, hoping he sounded genuine. Monty and Murphy both gave some space as Harper ate away at the meal he had made. He didn't want to admit it to himself, but he felt nervous and kept glancing over at where Harper was sitting to see if she had finished or not yet. When she beckoned them back over the table, Murphy fought the urge to double over in pain as the knot of sudden anxiety in his stomach tightened.  
  
"Well?" Monty and Murphy asked in unison.

Harper smiled and pushed the plate away. "That was really good. No offense to Miller but Murphy's got him beat." Murphy felt the tension in his gut unfurl as he heard her words. He hadn't butchered it, that was good. Most of the time, he found that when he got overly nervous he got all flustered and seemingly could do nothing correctly.

"Can you start tomorrow?" Monty asked. "Bright and early, say six thirty."   
  
"Uh, yeah. That works," he said. He held his hand out to Monty who took it and gave his hand a strong shake. "Thank you, Monty." Monty nodded in return and smiled.  
  
"I hope this position works out well for you."

* * *

  
Marcus flipped through the channels on the television as he waited impatiently for Abby to come to bed. He needed to talk to someone about the turmoil of emotions he was feeling inside. Since the abrupt, sudden arrival of John Murphy at his doorstep, Marcus had been fighting with himself about whether or not to go and talk to the younger man. The only thing that stopped him from doing so were his own thoughts.

Part of him dreaded about hearing where John had gone and why he'd been gone so long. Even though John was now a grown man, he still saw the little kid every time he looked at him. The last time he'd seen the younger man was when he was thirteen and even then, puberty hadn't deterred Marcus' thoughts of referring to John the little kid he had picked up from the park all those years ago.

Although he had never openly admitted it to anyone, not even his mother, although he assumed she knew at some point, Marcus had grown quite fond of John over the years. He was a good kid, and even up to present day, he still didn't understand why the boy's mother abandoned him. Part of him wanted to ask John about his mother, about his father; despite all their years together, he felt like he hardly knew the boy and what made him tick.

"He came back," he said. "Seven years and he came back." He turned to Abby, who had been busy washing up for the night. "A runaway wouldn't do that, would they?" Abby took a seat next to him and placed a hand on his knee. Her eyes met his and  he could see they were filled with an understanding and sympathy he never remembered seeing on her face before.

"I don't know what to say Marcus,' she said. She gaped for a moment as she struggled for words, clearly at loss of them. "I never ran away as a child and haven't personally known any kids who have run away. If John did run away, you don't know the reason because you aren't in his head." Marcus squeezed Abby's hand that rested on his knee.  
  
"Indra was the one that convinced me that he had run off. Eventually practically everyone around me was saying that he had run away. They gave up on him...I gave up on him."  
Abby caressed his face, and turned his head up so their gaze met. She smiled softly.  
"Don't be so hard on yourself, Marcus. What matters is he came back. I'm sure he came home for a reason." Kane nodded as he absorbed Abby's words of advice; he knew well enough that he shouldn't be hard on himself but he couldn't stop from hating himself for giving up on his foster son so...easily.

For now, he'd give John some space, but sooner rather than later, Kane wanted to know what exactly had happened to John Murphy during that long period of unaccounted, missing time. And he wanted to know why and how he had disappeared and why he had come back so suddenly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Hopefully, this wasn't littered with typos and other errors. If you are enjoying this, please let me know through kudos, comments or even bookmarks! All type of appreciation is appreciated!


	6. Taken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another flashback chapter to when Murphy was abducted from Arkadia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been awhile since an update, but here it is. Sorry if it's not perfect, I haven't had much undivided time to edit. But please enjoy! 
> 
> Just a heads up that this is probably where it starts getting progressively darker in the flashbacks. I will probably end up re-tagging this story since some aspects of it have changed in planning However, certain kinks will be written in future chapters, but I will give fair warning in the notes at the beginning.

_Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear, absence of fear~_ Mark Twain

 **Chapter Six: Taken**  
_Then_  
Age 13  
  
Playgrounds should have held good childhood memories, but the strongest memory he had of being in the park playground was when his mom had dropped him off, backpack in hand and had promised she'd be back soon. And then he remembered sitting there as he watched all the other kids play, silently wishing he could have joined in on their playful antics. And his mother had never returned.  
  
He'd met Marcus, which was a plus he supposed, but at the time he whole-heartedly believed that his mother would come back for him. Even when Indra had shown up and both her and Kane had explained the situation to him, he'd still clung to the smallest amount of hope  that she would walk through the police station doors, apologizing for how late she was.

It had taken years for him to start trust others again, and even now, it was limited to Marcus and Vera. He didn't want to place his complete trust in someone only to have them tear a piece of his heart when they decided they no longer needed him in their life. He turned his eyes away from the playground and continued past, zipping his coat up. This autumn was particularly cold and he wasn't surprised to see that there was barely a soul in sight outside. On his way home from school, he hadn't recalled seeing anyone out on the street.

They all had the right idea, he supposed, staying inside or using cars for transportation instead of facing the cold, blustering wind of the fall season. He was about halfway back to Marcus and Vera's house but he liked to take his time to admire everything around him. Autumn in Arkadia was beautiful and it turned the trees the most beautiful shades of red and gold. Even if it was cold, seeing the trees and inhaling the scent of dried leaves and damp earth were pleasantries he liked to take advantage of.

 The smell of exhaust fumes mixed with the intoxicating scents of fall and the quiet of the park was broken as he heard the sound of a fast approaching vehicle. He turned towards the sound of the noise and spotted a white van as it sped by.The van had to be going about 80km/h in a 40km/h zone and he was surprised as the passenger door opened up and a woman tumbled out. She hit the asphalt and rolled once and narrowly missed the back wheels of the vehicle as it sped by. 

 He stared after the white van that sped down the road before it made a hasty right hand turn; the license plate read COL 600. The woman brushed herself off and tried to straighten herself but stumbled as the one of the heels she wore snapped. 

"Are you okay?" he asked. He glanced up and down the street to see if the car would be making a turn around. 

"Can I call someone for you?" he asked, already trying to fish his phone out of his jean pocket. The woman smiled politely and shook her head.   
  
"I should be fine." 

"I could take you towards the police station," he suggested, "You can report that asshole who threw you out of the car. I got the license plate."  
  
"How kind of you."

With her shoes in hand, she fell in step beside him and the two headed back down the sidewalk that led to the center of town. As they walked, Murphy kept in mind that he saw no one else on the street, and very few cars on the road. It irked him that he kept seeing the van that had tossed the woman out pass them several times before making a turn and disappearing.

"Is he following you?" Murphy asked as he watched the van drive past them for what must have been the fourth time. If this lady was being stalked or harassed or even had been kidnapped and had attempted to escape, he was positively sure that taking her to the police was the best idea. The woman followed his gaze, but did not reply.

The thought that the driver in the van was after the woman dimmed slightly as a darker thought entered his mind. He started to slow his pace and began to drag behind the woman. His eyes shifted around, hoping to see if anyone was outside or if he could catch the attention of someone in a passing car or business store window.

He came to a stop, deciding it'd be best if he allowed the woman to continue on her own.

"Well, the police station isn't too much further. Just keep heading straight for a few more blocks and it should be on the right," he said, nodding in the general direction. "I should get going. I'm expected at home." He shoved his hands into his jean pockets, his hand wrapping around his cell phone. If they were closer to the police station, he would have made a run for it, hoping that whoever was working that night would be able to help.

The growing feeling of dread in his gut made his heart pick up in pace; this woman was a lure. With the way she acted, with how he saw her fall out of the van when he happened to be the only person around... He wanted to slap himself for not seeing it sooner. He felt so stupid; that was the last time he tried to be nice to someone.

He backed further away from her, his hand clenched tightly around his phone. He had backed several steps away and had just turned to make a hasty retreat. He hadn't gotten very far, maybe past when he heard a vehicle screech to a halt, just hidden from view between two businesses. He heard one of the doors open and the sound of hurried footsteps on concrete. Murphy turned to run but a sudden, strong pair of hands grabbed him from behind, knocking the phone from his hand, and began to drag him towards the back of the van, which had its doors wide open. He attempted to scream, hoping that someone nearby would hear him, but a cloth was clapped over his mouth before he could force any sound from his mouth. He fought against the hands that held the fabric over his face but his attacker held firm. Clearly, a scrawny thirteen year old was too pitiful a match to be considered a fight. It was a struggle-a fight only on Murphy's end.

A dizzying feeling washed over him and he felt knees wobbly and he started to feel lightheaded. And just as suddenly as it had been clamped over his mouth and nose, the cloth disappeared as the man caught him before he fell to the ground. He was hauled towards the open van doors and shoved inside.

The woman was inside the back of the van, sitting on her knees, and she grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him down so his head rested on her thighs while the driver-a large, dark skinned man with a salt and pepper beard- climbed a top him, pinning his arms to his sides and his legs to the floor of the van. From a coat pocket, the man produced a small bottle, a clear liquid inside.

The man grabbed him by the chin and pried open his mouth and Murphy felt a tasteless liquid being poured into his mouth. Some of it splashed over his nose and chin but most of it landed in his mouth. The man disappeared from sight as the woman held her hand over his mouth and nose, forcing him into swallowing the substance if he wanted a fresh breath.

 Reluctant to swallow whatever the hell had been poured into his mouth, but with his lungs starting to wonder where the supply of oxygen went, he couldn't help but swallow the liquid in exchange for the woman removing her hand so his lungs could function properly again.The man rolled him over onto his side and forced his hands behind him and secured them together with a zip tie.

He jumped out of the back and back onto the concrete and turned to glare at Murphy, who glared back.  
  
"You best keep quiet," the man growled . "I don't want to gag you." And then he slammed the doors shut. Frustrated, he kicked at the closed doors with his feet, wondering if perhaps the locks were weak enough that he could kick them open, but sadly they didn't budge.

"Shh, shh, baby," the woman cooed, placing a comforting hand on his back. "It's okay. You'll be fine."

 _Am I though?_ he wondered. The one coherent thought that blasted through his chaotic thoughts of panic, frustration and distress was what these creeps planned on doing to him. Was he going to die at the young age of thirteen? Would they sell him into human trafficking? Would they torture him for kicks? All the possibilities that popped into his head made his stomach do back flips. The combination of the building anxiety, the movement of the car as it hit and bounced over pot holes, and whatever drug they had given made the back flips in his stomach become more intense.

So intense that some of the contents of his stomach came back up and he found himself nearly sliding into the puddle of vomit as the car made a hard turn.  He lowered himself onto his side and curled in on himself as he tried to calm down his racing thoughts and his racing heart. Panicking wouldn't do him any good. But curling up into a ball, trying not to cry didn't help him either. 

He felt the woman's hand on his back, rubbing gently up and down his spine. He assumed, for the time being, that she meant well, but what was supposed to be a reassuring gesture made his flesh crawl and sent an uncomfortable shiver through his body. He forced himself back onto his knees as he stomach revolted again and his throat burned as the remainder of his stomach contents came up.

"Is that normal? Should that make him sick?" the woman asked. He was surprised by how her voice seemed laced with a touch of concern.

"He's fine," he heard the driver say, "It's probably just shock."

"You're sure you didn't give him an overdose?"

"I'm sure. It's one of the side effects anyway. Now come back up here and sit down." However, despite the instructions, the woman didn't get up to sit in the passenger seat. Instead, she remained with him, and pulled him close so his head rested against her thigh, although he still faced away from her. 

As the car continued towards its destination, he began to float in and out of consciousness as whatever they had forced down his throat started to take effect. With each time he woke, he was still in the back of the van; it had to have been the fourth of fifth time he'd come back into a conscious state when he felt the van slowing to a stop and then he heard the grinding sound of the gear shift into park and the driver door opened and slammed shut loudly, the sound painfully ringing in his ears. The back doors of the van were ripped open, and dying daylight shone in although it felt white hot as the light blinded him.

He was hauled from the back of the van and his knees buckled underneath him as his feet hit the ground. The man grabbed him by the back of his shirt and pulled him back to his feet and pushed him forwards so he'd start walking.

"Be careful with him," the woman scolded.   
  
"He's not fragile china," the man said.  
  
He stumbled over his feet as he was led up to a classic log cabin. He felt nauseous and the world seemed to spin even though he wasn't physically spinning in circles. He wondered if this is what it felt like to be drunk; if it was, he never wanted to start drinking, if he lived to be old enough to drink. Despite the spinning sensation and the lingering sick feeling in his stomach, he took in his surroundings, hoping that he'd be able to see something that could possible give him an idea as to where he was.

Trees as far as his eyes could see surrounded him from all directions. The air smelt of pine and much fresher than in Arkadia and if he squinted, he could see in the distance the large bodies of mountains, their peaks hidden in cloud cover. Arkadia was close to a mountain range, but it rested more in a valley, so wherever they were now was probably an hour or two away. He hoped. He couldn't be sure, not with the amount of times he'd passed out while being driven out here.

And given the surroundings, wherever he was, it didn't seem like it was close to any civilization. Whoever these people were, they'd probably thought the entire abduction out. And of course, he just had to be the lucky sonabitch who got the honors of getting snatched up. The tight feeling in his gut tightened all the more as he thought about the situation he was in. He came to a stop before the steps that led to the front door of the cabin, hoping that he could buy some time to take a second look around incase he had missed something in his impaired state. The man who'd been driving the van jabbed him abruptly in the back. Startled, he took a step forward and nearly tripped on the steps.

 The woman stepped around him to unlock the front door and ushered everyone inside. The inside of the cabin was sparse in furnishings and the walls lacked pictures that showed any family lived there. Perhaps it was just the two of them, or perhaps they were keeping things hidden. As he was led further in, he could see no sign of any electronics or modern ways to communicate over large distances.  
No phone. No computer. If he ever got a chance for help, he'd have to make a run for it. He hoped that these two weren't hunters. He would have no chance against them in the forest if they knew the ground well.

 He was led down a hall and into a small bathroom. With the three of them in it, it suddenly felt very cramped. The large man cut the zip-tie restraints around his wrists and without so much as a word he advanced on Murphy and started to undress him. Slowed by whatever concoction they had given him, he was slow to react to the sudden action. 

"No," he groaned in protest, but the word seemed to stick in his throat and came out as a strange moan. The man easily managed to hold his limbs still long enough so he could lift Murphy's shirt and protection bell over his head. They were cast aside without care as he started to take Murphy's pants off. Murphy tried to wriggle away from the man, hoping that he could maintain some of his dignity. The man gripped John's wrists in one of his large hands and pressed against his torso with the other as he pushed Murphy against the wall and pinned him once again.   
  
"Stop. Struggling." the man said, his voice stern. His eyes held a menacing look 

 His skin crawled and he shivered involuntarily as the man took the remainder of his clothes off, leaving him nude. He tossed the bundle of clothes to the woman.

"Go get something for him to wear."

 She stared at him while he was manhandled into new clothes, and the stranger's hands on him and the stranger eyes on him made his skin crawl to a point where he started to tremble. It wasn't out of fear, or at least, he hoped it wasn't out of fear, although he hated to admit to himself that he was indeed afraid of what was to come. He tried to block out the unwanted stimuli and shut his eyes and tried to imagine the touch of the man's hands as something more pleasant and wanted.

When he glanced down at what garments had been placed on him, he saw he was dressed head to toe in grey. The clothes were somewhat stiff, a size or two too large, and smelled freshly laundered, but his skin felt as though it was crawling; these were not his-not even the underwear they had redressed him in. He wanted his own things back. He was manhandled back out into the hall and herded down to the door at the end of the hall. Unlike the rest of the doors on the inside of the cabin, this was the only one that seemed to have any locks on it on the outside. He felt his 

The room was bare except for a mattress that was positioned up against the far side wall. And unlike the windows in the other room where they had stripped him, the lone window in this room had wrought looking metal bars over it.  
  
"Welcome home," the woman said. Murphy wasn't sure if she was forcing the happy tone in her voice or not. He really hoped so, because there was nothing happy about this occasion, not for him anyway.

"So they finally went off the deep end. I was wondering how long it would take."

Murphy turned towards the sound of the voice. Sitting in the corner of the room, hidden from the open door, sat a boy. The boy's skin was dark, his eyes serious, his mouth pulled down into a permanent frown. He looked about Murphy's age, or perhaps a year or two older, and he was dressed all in grey, similar to what he was dressed in now. Murphy felt is heart skip a beat as he saw the other boy, and blinked several times, hoping that he wouldn't magically disappear.  
  
"You...help me. Please." It seemed like a shot in the dark considering that it seemed like this boy was a captive too, but what other options did he have? The boy glanced at him, staring at him analytically, although he didn't make any movement to get up. The man dropped Murphy onto the mattress like a sack of potatoes and he was surprised that it was soft.  
  
"You need...help me." he said to the boy. Again he made no movement to get up from the corner he sat huddled in as he continued to stare and watch Murphy with a reserved interest.  
  
"Who are you talking to, baby?" the woman asked. He tried to move towards the boy that sat in the corner, tried to lift an arm in his direction but found his body unresponsive. She repositioned him so that his entire body laid on the mattress and placed a pillow under his head.  
  
"She can't see me." the boy said plainly.  
  
"Why not?" he asked, the words slurring over one another. Suddenly, the boy got up from where he sat and seated himself on the edge of the mattress that Murphy laid on.  
  
"I'm dead," he said. He squinted at Murphy, curious. "But you can see me... how?" Murphy struggled to form words and force his vocal chords to work, but all he managed in response was a garbled slur of sounds. The woman's hand stroked his hair gently and caressed his face softly. He heard her murmur something to the man behind her, but the world around him was beginning to fade. Everything seemed quieter, everything looked fuzzy.

His eyes felt as though heavy bricks were placed atop his eyelids and attempting to drag them closed. If he'd been more lucid, and hadn't been drugged by god knows what, he'd probably be too busy panicking. Marcus and Vera would be worried about where he was, but he had no way to contact them and now he was trapped with these two psychos who wanted to do god knows what to him. He bit back his tears as he allowed whatever drug to takeover his system and knock him out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Thanks again to everyone who has left kudos or comments, it is all appreciated and helps keep me motivated. Also, the drugs used on Murphy were chloroform and GHB (just an FYI if you wanted to know), but I tried my best to incorporate side effects of these in. Also, if Jaha seems a bit OOC, I apologize. In later chapters I'm hoping to make him appear a bit more on the crazy side, but right now he just appears a bit harsh.
> 
> Also, I do currently have an idea about starting a series of one shots that would pertain to and focus on illness/disabilities that aren't clearly visible to the naked eye. I would love some opinions on this, since I'm not too sure of it myself since I don't want to offend anyone and I know that some people could possibly interpret it as such.

**Author's Note:**

> I hoped you enjoyed this first chapter. I've had this idea in my head for such a long time, I had to start writing it out. Kudos and comments are highly appreciated. Constructive criticism is welcomed, however, if you have nothing helpful or nothing nice to say, then please keep your trap shut.  
> ~DenDragon14


End file.
